What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
alteration Anne arms bear blood brother Buck Buckingham Cade cardinal Clarence Clifford Collier's comes Corrector crown dead death doth doubt Duke Earl editor Edward Eliz England Enter Exam Exeunt Exit eyes fair father fear fight folio follow Forces France friends Gent give Gloster grace hand hast hath head hear heart heaven highness honour hope I'll John keep King Henry lady leave live look lord madam Margaret mean never noble once peace play poor pray present prince printed quartos queen rest Rich Richard SCENE Shakespeare soldiers Somerset soul speak speech stand stay Suffolk sweet Talbot tears tell thank thee thing third thou thought Tower true unto Walker Crit Warwick York
Page 335 - But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty, To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling Nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them...
Page 194 - Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a grammar-school ; and whereas, before, our forefathers had no other books but the score and the tally, thou hast caused printing to be used ; and, contrary to the king, his crown, and dignity, thou hast built a paper-mill.
Page 549 - So went to bed : where eagerly his sickness Pursu'd him still; and, three nights after this, About the hour of eight, (which he himself Foretold, should be his last,) full of repentance Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, He gave his honours to the world again, His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.
Page 327 - Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!' And so I was, which plainly signified That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so, Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. I have no brother, I am like no brother; And this word 'love,' which greybeards call divine, Be resident in men like one another, And not in me!
Page 452 - For hateful deeds committed by myself! 1 am a villain : yet I lie, I am not. Fool, of thyself speak well : fool, do not flatter. My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the highest degree ; Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree ; All several sins, all used in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty ! guilty ! I shall despair.
Page 542 - Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's ; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr ! Serve the king ; And...
Page 5 - HUNG be the heavens with black , yield day to night! Comets, importing change of times and states, Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky ; And with them scourge the bad revolting stars, That have consented unto Henry's death ! Henry the fifth, too famous to live long ! England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.
Page 538 - Farewell ! a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him . The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Page 362 - I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, Who cried aloud " What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ?
Page 335 - Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York ; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.